


Stan and Rick's REALLY fucked up adventures in Zombieland, USA. (and Canada, but that comes later)

by Maksvell



Series: Stan and Rick fucked up adventures in (Insert universe here) [1]
Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombie Apocalypse, Arguing, BAABA, Cage Fights, Coming Soon - Freeform, Crazy Old Lady, Disco Girl, F/F, F/M, Guns, Lesbians, Lobster in a thong, M/M, Old Evangelist with a gun, Old Women, Pug trafficking, Pugs, Pulp Science Fiction, Raiders, Rick is afraid of corn, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Horeshit, Setting Zombies on Fire, Sinners, Stan is afraid of heights, Strippers & Strip Clubs, TEC-9, Windowless Vans, Zombie Hunters, Zombie Strippers - Freeform, Zombies, as in they travel to that universe, bad music, gratuitous cameo, kinda sorta, sin - Freeform, stanchez
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 08:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13231920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maksvell/pseuds/Maksvell
Summary: Stan and Rick have trapped themselves in a universe where the zombie apocalypse is currently going on, and they have some fun. But it's mostly bad times, bad times in the form of arguing, and anxiety. Not zombies, zombies are easy to kill. Like really easy.





	1. An introduction and some arguing.

A vomit green, 1962 Cadillac Eldorado slowly made its way down a lonely, muddy, Floridian backroad. The hazy state of the convertible’s passenger could be considered sober by the driver. The aforementioned passenger (A twenty-six-year-old man by the name of Stanley Pines.) stuck his head out the window, to feel the breeze. His life partner in crime, the aforementioned driver (A thirty-one-year-old scientist by the name of Rick Sanchez) began to berate him.  
“StAan you ….”, he began to half-heartedly trail off as he lost his train of thought.  
“What?”, he tossed a half emptied bottle of Hard Pitt Cola at a shambling corpse, as he did so it began to moan as if only mildly inconvenienced by his transgression. It then began to follow the car for a mile before Rick grew annoyed and blew its brains out with a shotgun. He was not going to waste the good shit on one simple little zombie. They continued to drive for another few miles eventually stopping outside a small town. They sat outside the town for about three hours, in that amount of time Rick had smoked two cartons of cigarettes and ate half a tab of high powered blue sunshine blotter acid, this left him on the floor of the backseat vomiting up whatever kind of Stan-themed breakfast Stanley had prepared that morning in one of the abandoned dorm rooms of Keiser University. As they drove a trio of zombies began to shuffle towards the car. Even though the car is snailing its way through the town, the zombies still struggled to catch up with it. One of them tried to attack from the front, but this action ended with it getting pulled under the car and it’s body getting crushed by the wheels. Rick continued to vomit in the back.  
“Jesus Christ Stan? W-where am I? Where’s the ecstasy?”  
“I threw the stash away back in Georgia.”  
“Y-you tricky bastard, w-why’d you do that?”  
“I had a really bad trip at the Guidestones and you left me on top of some Dollar Store.”  
“Y-you’re pissed that I kept you safe?”  
“No, I’m mad at you for leaving me on top of a high place surrounded by the living dead.”  
“Hey, I got you out of there.”  
Stan pulls the car to a stop and roles the armoured windows up.  
“You left me up there, while I was all gacked out on psychotics.”  
“L-look Stan I can see that you’re upset but, can we talk about this later?”  
“No, we’ll talk about this now.”  
“S-Stan, I’m all fucked up right now, and we’re surrounded by zombies”, Rick took a pause as he dug what looked like an inhaler out of his “bag of tricks”. He pressed the lower nozzle of the “inhaler” to his lips and breathed in the “medicine”.  
“Okay Stan, my mind’s in the right place now. First off while i-i’m usually indifferent to your a-anxieties due to how easily iIii can remedy them, I re-recognize that I made a mistake in leEEaving you on that roof. B-but please not that i was unaware of your fear of heights at the time. Stan to your left” Stan quickly manoeuvred the car so that he could crush yet another zombie.  
“And?”  
“And what? I-I already apologized.”  
“Yeah, but you did it like a jackass.”  
“W-what the hell do you want from me Stanley, I apologized isn’t that what you wanted?”  
“It’s not just that it’s the fact that you put us in harm’s way at every turn.”  
“Oh, s-spare me. W-when we first goOott here you loved beating the shit out of these dead-heads.”  
“Y’see it’s that right there, yeah it was fun at first but don’t you think we should fix this?”  
“W-why? T-that’s the way this universe works, you waAAaanna mess with that?”  
“I’ve seen you erase planets from existence, not just blowing them up, but outright erasing them, removing them from existence, don’t you think that that messes with things a little?”  
“Y-you don’t understand, that planet was a blight on the multiverse, o-one of the on-the-cob planets. Behind us to the right.”  
Stan backed the car up, not running over the zombie but knocking it on it’s back. Zombies are a lot like turtles, they’re slightly adorable, their skin occasionally has scales, they bite you if you’re too handsy, oh and they can’t get up if you knock them on their backs. Honestly, it’s surprising that the humans of this universe fell so quickly to something you can disable by pushing it over. Now back to our heroes(?).  
“You see it’s shit like that. What does that even mean? On-the-cob? Wait does that relate to your fear of corn?”  
“Oh fuck you. L-like it’s leEeess r-rational than your fear of heights.”  
“Fair enough.”

And with that their bickering ended unceremoniously. The climax came as it usually does, far too early leaving one party unsatisfied, but the other extremely satisfied.


	2. A Not So Sweet Old Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick starts a zombie strip club, Stan plays along in hopes of finding his fortune in Zombieland. A sweet old lady turns up on their doorstep, but what are her motivations for coming here? Will this question be answered or is the writer an asshole? These questions and more will be answered (or not) in this next instalment of Stan and Rick's REALLY fucked up adventures in Zombieland, USA. (and Canada, but that comes later).

Stan woke up on a bed with slightly filthy floral sheets to the sound of the song Le Freak by Chic. The drowsy burly man wandered out of the abandoned motel and down the street to the source of the sound. The source was a bar. The purple neon sign above it read, “Rick’s”. He heard a series of groans mixed with the repeating song. Stan took out his pistol and rushed in expecting a hoard of zombies ripping apart his life-partner-in-crime. He was half right. Rick was sitting on a homemade throne in the centre of the room as scantily clad muzzled zombies grabbed onto the bars of their cages.  
“H-howdy Stan.”  
“Rick what the fuck is this?”  
“I-it’s a strip club, “bro”.”  
“That’s really gross Rick.”  
“Hey d-don’t you juUddge me…And it’s not for me.”  
“The who's it for?”  
“The necrophiliacs of t-the ZoOoombie wasteland!”  
“What?”  
“T-think about it, Stan. I put up fliers all over the country. To attract people here.”  
“You didn’t.”  
“I did. And when they come, (hehe) they’ll bring whatever they have to trade to get a peek at our zombie guys, gals, and everything else. We’ll b-be roOOoolling in shitty dirt weed, meth, guns, b-bullets, and CASH! Biyatch!”  
Stan dwelled on the thought, the moment he mentioned cash, he decided to play along with this con. But his thoughts were interrupted by a loud knocking on the heavy metal door of “Rick’s”. Rick shut the music off and got really close to Stan.  
“Go s-see who it is.”, he whispered.  
Stan nodded and swallowed a great deal of saliva as he approached the door and peered out the peephole. He saw a short, plump woman, about 5’2 from his estimates, she had short grey hair that was tied up neatly in a bun, her clothes were a long grey skirt, a matching turtleneck sweater, and black flats, on her left shoulder was a black purse, and on her wrinkled face she wore two things; a pair of bifocals and a warm grandmotherly smile.  
“W-who is it?”  
“It’s some old broad.”  
“Wait really? J-Jesus, we have a real freak on o-Our hands, Stanley.”  
“Should I let her in?”  
“I mean y-yeah we don’t di-discriminate here.”  
Stan began to slowly open the door.  
“Yes?”, he asked the woman.  
“Are you Rick?”, asked the woman in turn.  
“No.”  
“Might I ask where he is?”  
“He’s inside, what are you here for?”  
“Well, I found this flier around Saint Petersburg…” , she took the flier from her purse, it was a simple white piece of paper with a cartoonish drawing of Rick’s head in the centre, the text around it read “Come to Rick’s, the best strip bar that caters to “particular clientele.” ” the text stopped there and continued at the bottom of the page, “ our services in exchange for whatever you’ve got to trade (please note that we don’t accept people as payment.)” Beneath that it displayed the address of “Ricks”.  
“Are you here to sample the goods?”  
“Well, I am in a sense.” Stan felt the old woman press the barrel of a TEC-9 against his gut.  
“Let me in brawny.”  
Stan silently complied with her request, slowly opening the door. Rick was nowhere to be seen.   
“Now where the hell is he? What are you two perverts…” she stopped and took a look around the room at all the half-naked zombies in their cages shambling to the beat of Disco Girl by BABBA. Stan winced. My god how he detests this song, almost as much as he detests the feeling of a gun pressed firmly into his gut.  
“What in heaven’s name is all this?” asked the rotund woman.  
“It’s a necrophile strip club.”  
“Why?”  
Stan let out an annoyed sigh.  
“We started it to make a little cash.”  
The woman smacked him on the head with the gun knocking him to the floor. Stan layed there looking up at the old lady, her once calming smile had turned into a disgusted scowl.  
“Yer a filthy degenerate son, I think it’s best that I send you to meet yer maker.” she took the safety off her gun, but before she could pull the trigger her head exploded into an innumerable amount of microscopic fragments. Rick stood behind her with one off his gaudy stereotypical science fiction guns, and a wiley smile on his face. He held out his hand and Rick helped him to his feet. Within an hour they were in the bar’s kitchen stripping and butchering what used to be the old woman, Stan occasionally gagged at the smell whilst Rick remained stoic and morbidly humorous. The hour that followed that was spent feeding the ground up woman to the “dancers”.  
“Rick did we hafta do that?”  
“D-do you w-want to find new dancers or dOOooo you want to keep the ones that we have healthy and content?”  
“Healthy and content.”  
“That’s what i’m talkin about.”  
They sat outside of Rick’s keeping guard of the bar and smoking massive cigars, when suddenly a white windowless econoline van pulled up outside.


End file.
